


What to Expect (When You're Unexpectedly Expecting)

by fireboltflame



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Dubious Science, M/M, Mpreg, Revolutionary War, Sex, This is no sex education class kids, Unplanned Pregnancy, love is love is love is love is love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-14
Updated: 2020-09-14
Packaged: 2021-03-06 21:00:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,197
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26205337
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fireboltflame/pseuds/fireboltflame
Summary: Men in Washington's Army are coming down with a certain....condition.Alexander Hamilton is not immune to this ailment.
Relationships: Alexander Hamilton/George Washington
Comments: 4
Kudos: 41





	What to Expect (When You're Unexpectedly Expecting)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Let's see, 9 chapters.....hmmm. Can't be mean anything too significant ;)
> 
> Also we come in hot on this one. Sex. Drama. Intrigue. And it's only the first chapter!

_November 1780_

_Theunis Dey Mansion_

_Preakness Valley Headquarters_

Alexander Hamilton writes by candlelight at the General’s borrowed desk. He has been writing without rest for nearly the whole of the day. His hand cramps and his upper back is so tense that it might snap like a worn piece of leather. Hamilton’s mind, clever as it was, strong as it was, could not overcome the ailments of his own physique. 

Hamilton has been in Washington’s service for nearly three years, in the army for two years longer than that. His formative years have been filled with blood, desperation, and a steep learning curve on the strict protocol maintained by the General. The one thing in which he has absolute confidence is his top-notch brain. He is the cleverest on the staff, the quickest to pen a letter, fluent in multiple languages, and always ready to debate a topic or defend a friend.

When Hamilton is not writing under orders, he is using his own purchased ink and parchment. Penning out political essays that he sends to be published anonymously in any nearby paper (but preferably the New York ones). The other aides pretend not to know exactly who authors them and the General has long stopped reading the papers.

But nevermind politics and ideals now. There is a serious ailment(?) running through the camps. Hamilton actually doesn’t know if the ailment(?) (as he has taken to distinguishing it in his reports and the journal) is really a sickness. It appears to be contagious, given that multiple men are now suffering it, but the cases are scattered in no discernable pattern of contact. 

The symptoms are generally the same - vomiting, bloating, back pain, and the violent mood swings. With a tumor-like bulge in the abdomen that seems to endlessly grow. Hamilton personally thinks the ailment(?) is cancerous in nature, or some sort of parasite that has taken the soldiers as a host. The medics are staying suspiciously silent on it. The General orders that the men be quarantined to avoid its spread.

“Colonel?” The General’s imposing voice echoes in the quiet room they have commandeered as Washington’s office for the few days they will be at this headquarters.

Hamilton jumps to attention. He learned at the start of his service that Washington requires strict observance to protocol even when they are alone. Hamilton’s uniform is always starched, his buttons and shoes shined, and his long black hair is always tamed into a tight high ponytail. If the General demands absolute obedience in his staff, Hamilton will obey.

Washington sets him at ease with a raised hand. Hamilton sits again, with a straighter posture, and writes while he waits for the General’s next command. 

Now, it is also not in Hamilton’s nature to presume the intentions of others outside of war strategy. He has been surprised too many times by the callousness and hatred of this world to expect anything like human decency. But he has also been surprised by human decency too much in this callous and hate-filled world to expect complete indifference. 

But he thinks he knows the General’s intentions tonight.

The General puts a heavy hand on Alexander’s shoulder and squeezes it gently. He lays a first biting kiss to his covered collar, before tearing away the neckcloth and undoing the top buttons to give himself greater access. 

Alexander rolls his shoulders with pleasure. He angles his neck to the left, giving his General better access to nip and kiss. If Hamilton believed in mercy, or a higher power, this would be his proof. The General’s embrace after a long day of grueling busy work is his proof of something more powerful than this war.

“Oh, my sweetness,” The General does not take to pet names, usually, but will indulge in them when it comes to Colonel Hamilton, “come to my bed.”

Alexander Hamilton cannot disobey a direct order.

Hamilton sits at the top of the bed, against the headboard, as Washington unrobes. Hamilton normally is the eager one, but he’s got nothing on Washington tonight, who throws his shirt and pants down with violence in his haste to remove them. But then, Hamilton thinks, disrobing when you have that much body - Washington is 6’ 2” - must be a constant trial.

Hamilton is undressed then, by his General, with movements of worship and cherishment. 

There is a bottle pressed into his hand and Washington attacks his neck again. Alexander blushes red when he understands what is being asked of him. He twists his body as he reaches below, opening himself up with teasing touches and then quick strokes.

The General observes silently for a few delicate moments before taking control once more.

Hamilton grips onto the headboard as Washington pounds into him from behind. He does not mind servicing the General in this way. Hamilton enjoys sex, especially after a long day of work. He even enjoys being used as carelessly as his General demands. He is not ashamed of being sodomized.

Washington hits that sweet spot within him and he nearly moans. He does not, however, and manages to smother the sound in the pillow. As much as Hamilton is not ashamed of sodomy, he also would like to avoid being hanged for it, thank you very much.

The General speeds up to a more violent pace. Hamilton expects that he also had a grueling day in meetings and appraising the state of the troops. Washington does not habitually see the common soldiers, since it inevitably sets him into despondency or rage at the conditions.

“Close.” Washington warns.

“Almost. More.” Hamilton responds. He feels a large hand grip his manhood and he thrusts into it in turn. Hamilton thinks he is very lucky that Washington is his commander, as Washington seems to sincerely care that this act is pleasurable for his aide as well. It would be so easy for Washington to take his pleasure and walk away. But then he would not the General and Hamilton would have refused that first offer to warm his bed.

The thought sometimes crosses Hamilton’s mind that he can’t possibly be the only aide that services the General this way. But then no other aide seems as devoted, nor seems to have the same opportunity for the illicit act. It must just be Hamilton. It must only be him.

And, besides, he can’t just ask the General if he is the only bedmate the General brings to his bed.

Washington rolls off of him, immediately grabbing up his handkerchief to wipe off his cock. He tosses it lightly at Hamilton, who discreetly tends to himself as well.

Both wipe their hands on the sheets as a last cleaning effort. The landry will need to be tended to tomorrow and Hamilton knows that this host, or at least his wife, will give the General the same knowing look the others have given. Washington ignores these looks or, when he is in the rare playful mood, winks back at the matron.

Hamilton rises to put on his rumpled pants and is glad at least that his shirt avoided too many wrinkles.

“Thank you, Colonel.”

“It is my honor, Your Excellency.”

The wonderful view of Washington’s muscled back is on display as the General stretches. Hamilton’s soft cock twitches uselessly at the sight. If it takes fighting a war for Hamilton to get into Washington's bed, it will have been worth it. 

\---

Papers in one hand, a heavily leaned on cane in the other, General Scott hounds General Washington with an upbraiding unworthy of the Commander-in-Chief. Scott had cornered him downstairs and badgered him into permitting this absurd meeting, accusing him of neglecting his obligations to his loyal officers and paying lip service to traitors and knaves. Had he not nurtured that traitor Arnold at his own bosom?

Hamilton politely excuses himself from the room at Washington’s quick look at him ordering as much.

\---

Hamilton instead spends most of the morning with Laurens, who is briefly returned from his captivity through a prisoner exchange and having reported to the General. They fall back into their steady friendship, comparing war experiences and thoughts on the injustices in the world.

“You’re happy.” Laurens remarks as they walk along the road.

Hamilton considers this a moment. He has never described himself as a _happy_ person. His life is full of too much trauma and anxiety for that.

“I’m...okay.” He compromises.

Laurens snorts. “Ham, you are allowed to be happy in a war. Just, you know, if you just cause to be.” He kicks at a rock in his path. 

Hamilton tries to change the subject, “Have you heard from your wife lately?” 

That earns him another snort. “ _No_ , I have not heard from my sweet lady wife since I became imprisoned. Nor have I written her on my release. But I _have_ only just heard of the sickness here.” Laurens turns the conversation again in turn. Though John Laurens is married with a little daughter, Alexander rarely hears about the family. That includes Lauren’s famous father, Henry Laurens. It is something the two men share in common: a dislike for their origins, despite how those origins formed the men they are today.

“Aye,” Hamilton agrees, forgetting to suppress the coarse accent he learned in childhood, “The men are complaining of aches and bloated bellies. Any similarity in the Southern troops?”

Laurens shakes his head. Only the main body of the army then. Some luck at least in that.

“Will it take many, do you think?”

Hamilton shakes his head, “No, only a dozen or so affected. You’d think it a passing sickness if it didn’t last and last. Months a few of them have had it.” 

Laurens, never one to worry over much about troops that weren’t his own battalion, leaves that subject as it is. 

Hamilton doesn’t think on it for the rest of the day either

\---

The medic tent where the soldiers with the ailment(?) is now nearly full. Rows of trundle beds and blankets line the long tent. Hamilton ventures there one day to request a report and is surprised by what he sees.

“But these men are healthy!” He exclaims. It’s true. Their pallor is rich, some are laughing and playing cards, another is drinking down whiskey when the medics turn their backs. The only abnormality is the tumor-like bulge under their long gowns. 

“A man with sense!” One man with a ruddy beard shouts from his reclined state, his stomach the most portly of them all, “Write me a pass away from this Hell!”

A medic glares at Hamilton, obviously annoyed, and hands him a report, already complete with a seal. Hamilton shrugs (a little smug that he has fulfilled his mission in record speed considering he was here to _request_ a report and now has one in his hand) and returns to the General.

He doesn’t think about those men in the tent for a few more weeks.

\---

Near the end of the month, just as the army is readying to camp down for the winter months, the medic begs for an urgent meeting with Washington. Which is...odd. Especially odd that the meeting is _granted_. But it’s John Galen, who is the main medic in charge of the ailment(?), that begs for the audience. 

Washington welcomes the harried, white-haired man into his office. Hamilton sits, unassuming, in the corner, with the order to take notes on any medical terms used by the medic that they might report to Congress if they need to request funds for medicinal supplies.

The Doctor is holding his bag with such tenderness that it makes Hamilton nervous. Hamilton is largely unfamiliar with Galen, outside of the passing mention of another case of the ailment(?) identified in the army.

“My dear Doctor, you have some insight on the sickness, I hope?” Washington motions for the man to sit, but Galen seems unable to stop pacing.

“Sir, a man died-” Galen stops himself suddenly to run his fingers through his hair, making it even more mussed up. 

“It’s fatal then.” Washington had feared this. They had enough trouble with the pox and infections, they could hardly bear an unknown disease with no known cure.

But the Doctor shakes his head. “Sir, we performed surgery on him. He screamed that his stomach pained him so bad that we chanced to remove...the tumor, as many saw it. But it wasn’t a tumor sir…” That wide eyed look comes back into his eyes and he grips the bag again.

“And?” Washington is the picture of calm confusion. 

Then the Doctor, with a shaking hand, opens his bag. The General raises slowly to examine the contents. His face takes on a look of horror and he steps back blindly. Hamilton, who by this time has had nothing to take notes on, stands to look as well.

“No, Colonel! Don’t look!” Washington orders. He looks sick and wide-eyed, his expression almost matching the Doctor’s now.

The Doctor snaps the bag shut again and shudders himself.

“Is this a trick?” Washington asks in a hoarse whisper. 

The Doctor glares, “Your Excellency, how should such a ruse benefit me? Or those men? I examined the remaining ones myself, sir. Their symptoms fit the bill, the end should be the same as,” He glances down at the bag, “this. The Devil is at work in our camps, General. Turning men into monsters.”

But Washington shakes his head, “You’re sure these soldiers are _men_? You’re certain?” His hands shake now and he puts them behind his back.

The Doctor glares again but does not speak.

Hamilton longs to see whatever is in that bag, desperate to know what they are discussing.

Washington seems to remember him again. He looks over and nods his head toward the door. A dismissal. Hamilton pretends not to see it, chancing insubordination in his quest for knowledge.

“Colonel, you are dismissed.”

“Yes, Your Excellency, sir.”

\---

Washington speaks with Galen for a long time after. Hamilton eventually is sent to fetch Generals Scott and Wayne, along with Laurens as an unofficial aide to take notes, and a few other medics around mid-afternoon. Galen takes this time to leave with his curious bag and returns back with one of the sick soldiers, covered with a blanket and ushered into the office with haste.

Hamilton is only a little offended that Laurens has been given his place as personal aide, but his curiosity and frustration cover most of the offense.

The aides and secretaries are warned against interrupting the meeting. They go about their tasks with directions from Harrison, Washington’s personal secretary and most trusted staff member behind Hamilton and Lafayette.

Sometimes they can hear shouts. Other times it is deadly quiet. The poor soldier is escorted back to the medic tent by Laurens, both of whom look a little paler and older than when they went into the room. Laurens looks even older and more shell-shocked when he returns from the medic tent an hour later, shaking slightly and refusing to answer Hamilton’s questions before he returns to the General’s office.

Benjamin Tallmadge comes in a bit later, when they are at their supper (Tench and Hamilton had carried up a few plates for those in the meeting earlier), and regals the aides with the tale of how his men took Fort St. George a few days prior. The raid took a number of captives and provisions. Tallmadge, rightfully, rode back to Washington at top speed to deliver news of his success. Only the General could not see him this day. Hamilton drank with the rest to Tallmadge’s health, happy that the mood could be uplifted by victory.

\---

Washington gives his report to his aides the next morning. Or well, Laurens gives the General’s report the next morning, with Washington sitting slack-faced behind him.

“Yesterday morning, on the twenty seventh day of November in one thousandth seven hundred and eighth year of our lord, it came to General George Washington’s attention the cause and nature of the so-called unknown ailment of seventeen soldiers in the main body of the army. A soldier, who will remain unnamed, came to a conclusion of his illness, when he gave leave for the good doctor John Galen to perform surgery on his person. It was discovered that the poor soldier had been carrying a child within his body.” 

John gulps at this and then continues. 

“It was confirmed by medics and honorable Lieutenant Colonel John Laurens that the man did have intact manhood. There is no evidence that he, nor the others, have the female anatomy. An interview and examination of the remaining sixteen revealed the same condition as the first man. It was confirmed with each that they each lay in an intimate manner with another soldier prior to the onset of their ailment. The logical train, in this highly illogical occurrence, is that these men did produce viable pregnancies following copulation with another man.”

The room is deadly silent. A few aides have looked away. Hamilton is transfixed, his mind for once quiet of all thoughts of revolution.

Laurens continues.

“Soldiers, we beg you, if you exhibit these symptoms: nausea, bloating, aches, persistent fatigue, or any other of an unusual nature, and have engaged in intimate relations with another man, please report it to your superior. You may also report to Doctor Galen or another medics and be assured of his confidentiality. No act of sodomy will be persecuted while this illness reigns. Your superior officer will speak words of courage to you following this report. Thank you for your service, men.”

Laurens folds the paper with care and steps away from his spot at the front of the room. He ducks his head as though he has been reprimanded and only just served his punishment. Hamilton can gather from the last lines that this will be distributed among the ranks.

Washington steps forward then.

“I encourage you all to speak with candor on this matter to the troops. To hide behind falseness and secrecy would only increase its stigma and the risk of its veracity. Rest assured, the British are suffering in this equally. This is not an Act of God against our cause. Nature can be entirely unnatural, as we have seen in the suffering of ourselves under tyranny when we are all created equal.”

A few aides nod at this, as if glad that this is said out loud. Hamilton doubts that they had received any information from the British that this is happening on their side as well. But it’s the lie that needs to be told if the truth is to come out. 

“Back to work, please.” Washington retires then to his office, having remained stoic and confident throughout the terrible report. The aides, still stunned, sit in silence. Laurens immediately stomps away from the room. 

Hamilton follows.

“John!” Hamilton shouts after him. They are walking down the path now. Laurens does not stop until Hamilton grabs his shoulder.

“Not here!” Laurens yells back into his face. They continue walking, until they are far away from the mansion and its ears. 

Hamilton lets Laurens pace for a while. Every so often he shakes out his curls and lets out a scream. Finally, he settles and look at Hamilton with red-rimmed eyes.

“They cut him open and found a dead baby. The man died after from infection. The baby died inside, choked on a cord, I guess. Galen knew about it before this happened. Or, at least, he was near certain. He says he can feel movements in the men’s stomachs. The men can feel movements. Just...the things move, Ham! Babies move! The...the...it was the last proof to bring to the General. Galen was scared that they would think he was insane. He has been recording it all. Strategizing and...Ham, this is happening! This is happening to our men!” John ends his soliloquy with another scream.

Hamilton breaks his silence, “How are the others?” He asks softly.

Laurens laughs maniacally, “They didn’t know! He never told them! That self-absorbed bastard! They are scared shitless now! I had to explain why I was looking at their balls! God! They are scared sinners about to become _mothers_! They were never told!” He stomps on the ground, attempting fruitlessly to release his anger and energy on the earth itself.

Hamilton wants to ask more but he sees that his friend is too distraught. Instead, he folds Laurens into his embrace. Laurens sobs hard into his shoulder.

\---

Washington is nearly silent the remainder of the day. Galen comes in later that day, with a report of a half dozen new cases after the announcement. The aides write a steady stream of correspondence to the remaining generals, colonels, captains, anyone of rank. The initial report given that morning is amended to add some line about the British having their own cases, the Hessians as well. Lies, lies, necessary lies.

Medics, more than Hamilton has ever seen, come through the door at all hours. One more case. Two more cases. Another. Another. One more.

Washington orders that the army will immediately retire to Morristown for the winter. The afflicted men will be given leave to return home, to seek medical help elsewhere. Or they may stay with Doctor Galen. 

Some men, feeling betrayed and hurt, and being of some means, do choose to return home. A few more demand monetary compensation and a new city doctor with “more learning.” The few others, those the furthest along, stay with the doctor on the condition that they will be assured privacy and permission to leave the army's service when it is over. None voice any desire to keep their babies.

No one speaks the presumed conclusion. The babies won't live. These men might not even live to go home.

\---

Hamilton finds a reason to be in the General’s office that night. It’s not unusual, given his value to the General, for Hamilton to make the General’s office his own. The other men don’t blink at it. Hamilton relishes in his own importance. 

Tonight is different though. Harrison already has packed up the majority of the papers and books. Crates stack in the corner. Hamilton insteads traces his hands along the desk. He remembers that, not too long ago, Washington spent a night or two seducing him away from this desk to the bedroom next door. He remembers how he snuck out of Washington’s room into his own in the small hours of the morning. It makes him smile.

“Colonel!” Washington commands his attention and Hamilton at once complies, standing stick straight. But this time Washington does not set him at ease immediately. 

“You can’t be here.” He says, looking Alexander directly in the eye. Hamilton’s shoulders sag involuntarily. 

“Why, sir?” Hamilton asks. 

Washington breathes out a puff of exasperated air, “You know why.” 

Hamilton walks past the General but not to leave. He shuts the door and turns back with expectation.

"Sir, please, you can't impregnate me with your presence!" He nearly laughs at his own joke. 

But Washington stays stony silent and raises one finger to signal _out_.

Hamilton takes the hint and promptly ignores it. 

"Your Excellency, sir, you can talk to me. You seem so distressed, sir." Hamilton lowers his voice, "I think it was the right choice to let the army know, it was very noble. I admire it, sir."

Washington grunts. He turns away.

Hamilton expels a puff of exasperated air. "Sir!" He nearly cries out in his desperation. Washington crosses the room to two great strides and grabs Hamilton's wrist. A thrill goes through Alexander's body, despite everything happening lately.

But this is no time for romance or rough play.

"Hamilton," Washington hisses, "You could already have it!"

As if it's a disease. Like it's a distasteful parasite pervading the army, unbidden and unwelcome.

Hamilton shudders and recoils like it is.

"Oh."

For all his cleverness, Hamilton has not thought of this. Yes, he and the General are intimate in that way, but rarely so these last months. They've already received a surprising amount of reports of sodomy with no condition found. This condition appears to be the exception, not the rule. No, there's little chance that Hamilton has caught it.

But the possibility still leaves an awkwardness in the room.

Hamilton, unable to think of a single retort for once in his life, leaves the room quietly.

\---

Hamilton reflects on this new possibility. He would know if he...if it happened. His body would tell him; he would be different. He closes his eyes and assesses himself. His heartbeat is the same. The air fills his lungs and leaves his nostrils the same. His control of his toes and fingers is the same. He _feels_ the same. With a quick glance around the hallway, and judging the coast clear, he puts a curious hand to his flat stomach. The same, if not a little tense with nervousness. No, he's not...it didn't happen. Thank god!

He's also lucky that he does not have to report his sodomy; his commander officer certainly already knows.


End file.
